The Most Vicious Creatures
by Robot from the future
Summary: Newt Scamander was expelled from Hogwarts for endangering human life with a beast. Years later he still carries a photo of Leta Lestrange and a grudge. How are these linked? Set during Newt's time at Hogwarts. Will contain spoilers for the film Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
1. Chapter 1

A/N **Nothing from the world of Harry Potter or Fantastic Beasts belongs to me.**

 **I saw FBAWTFT at the cinema yesterday and had to start writing something Newt related straight away because I needed more! All the chapters will be quite short and this story will be between seven and ten chapters long. I will attempt to update daily until it's done.**

 **This had not had a beta reader so I will not be offended if you point out typos**

Leta Lestrange should have been popular. With her glossy dark hair, falling almost to her waist, her clear skin and dark eyes, not to mention the air of guile that she exuded in every deed; the way her gaze would skitter around the room before she spoke, she should have been highly vaulted within her own house at least. If nothing else, her family name should have carried some credit. The Lestranges were a good, pureblooded family - rich too - her parents had remarked to each other in confusion when at social events, they did not see their daughter surrounded by crowds of admirers. And yet, there was something about the way she hung back at the end of lessons, dawdling over packing her books away so the rest of the class had filtered away before she made to leave, the way she would sit in the quietest corner of the common room, book raised in front of her eyes in the evenings, or how she chose to sit away from others at meals; something other that made even her peers avoid her when avoidance was possible. She didn't seem to mind. The lukewarm feelings that her housemates had for her were definitely reciprocated.

When it came to Newt Scamander, on the other hand, it was very easy to see why he wasn't overwhelmed with invitations for the holidays. The sorting hat had placed him in Hufflepuff, not only because of the anxious eleven year old's caring nature but because that was the house who would be most patient with him. However, even the Hufflepuffs tired of the endless questions he asked in class, even after the bell had rung, leaving the rest of the class shifting impatiently in their seats while he drilled the teachers for seemingly useless information in his mumbling, stuttering tone. In most subjects he was painfully slow at learning, frequently losing points for his house, although not for lack of effort. He knew he annoyed the other students and did his best not to, but somehow his nervous attempts to ingratiate himself, only made him all the more annoying. The exception was Care of Magical Creatures, which he excelled at. During those hours, his scrawny, gawky frame was transformed from awkwardness to surety as he handled the beasts with a competence that rivalled that of Professor Kettleburn.

It was during one of these lessons, in the fourth year, when the Hufflepuffs shared a lesson with the Slytherins, that Leta Lestrange first noticed him. She had seen him, of course. Her dark watchful eyes saw everything. But the first time she really saw him for what he was, or perhaps what he could be, when he finally grew into those gangly limbs and ridiculous hair.

Still she didn't approach him straight away, not for almost six months, until she happened across him in the Owlery.

"Hullo," he mumbled, waving stiffly across the room to her. She just smiled in response and went about attaching a parchment to the leg of a large eagle owl. She had heard rumblings of a dark rising in Europe, seen in the Prophet that the Knights of Walpurgis had pledged to stand with the new dark wizard – Grindelwald. She had heard of the Knights before, heard them being alluded to in low voices from her father's study, the words carried out on clouds of pipe smoke. Some of her house mates had even started saying how much they admired him – quoting the things he said and inking the symbol of the Hallows on themselves. It wasn't that she was shocked or disapproving – she had long since known that her family affiliated itself with the darker side of magic, and some of what Grindelwald said made sense – she just wanted to get more information from her father instead of gossip in the newspaper or the posturing of schoolboys. Hence the owl home.

"Having trouble deciding?" she asked, inclining her head towards the owls.

"Eh?" She could see his blush from across the room, even under his wavy thatch of hair.

"Which one to send?" She spoke slowly and clearly, pointing to the row of patiently waiting owls, wondering if the spiteful comments that the boy was simple were true.

"Oh…er…no. I was just talking to Albert." He said it as though it settled the matter, turning away from her in readiness for her leaving him alone. However his comment only drew her nearer, just a couple of steps closer across the dropping encrusted floor:

"Albert?" she wondered if they were perhaps speaking different languages. She resisted the urge to look over her shoulder and make sure there wasn't someone behind her who was carrying on an entirely different conversation with him that would explain why she couldn't make head nor tail of what he was saying.

Newt reached up and stroked the feathers of a tiny yellow owl.

"Albert's…an owl?" Her eyebrows were almost in her hair.

"Not a true owl," his voice was gentle and his stutter was non-existent now, "Half Snidget. Looks like his mum was quite broad minded about who she shared her nest with."

"And what? You can talk to animals?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Some magical creatures, such as Snidget have the ability to communicate with humans. That's why Quidditch players used to use them before they had snitches – if there was a disagreement about who touched it first, the Snidget could tell them. But I'm not having much luck with Albert here, his accent's terrible, probably because he's half owl," he looked round and looked at her and started, as though he had almost forgotten he was talking to someone else at all. She took a quick look out the window to ensure that her owl had departed, as though it could somehow report to her parents that she was spending time, unchaperoned with this odd boy who they would certainly not have approved of despite his purebloodedness, before taking the last step across the floor to stand next to him.

"Show me how to do it," she demanded.

And that had been that. Scamander and Lestrange became friends. It wasn't an 'us against the world' camaraderie – both were too used to their solitude for that – but an easy, symbiotic relationship that suited them both. She spent hours in the library with him, explaining charms and potions in a way that he could understand, much to the relief of his teachers and classmates. And in return, he took her to visit the unicorns in the forbidden forest, showed her how to feed fish stolen from the kitchen to the giant squid and even on one memorable occasion, snuck into the transfiguration Professor's office to see his phoenix Fawkes explode into flame and emerge from the ashes. And if Leta noticed how sometimes he gazed at her for just a beat too long, his eyes full of longing, biting his lip as though buttoning words inside his mouth, she never mentioned it. Just like he never said anything when the name Lestrange was mentioned in the Prophet, linked to rebellions against the Ministry of Magic, or sizeable donations to shadowy organisations in Europe. Neither of them said anything but deep in their cores they both knew that for these reasons, and a hundred more, change was coming.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or storylines from Harry Potter or Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them**

 **Wow, thanks for all the support for my first chapter of this story.**

 **I do not have a beta for this fic so i** f **you notice any errors, I will not be offended if you point them out.**

As firm as their unlikely friendship was, neither of them would claim that it was perfect. Every journey had bumps in the road though, Newt tried to tell himself, when his parents were warning him against getting too cosy with a Lestrange, or his fellow Hufflepuffs were looking at him askance for fraternising with the enemy.

One such bump came at the beginning of the sixth year. Newt turned a corner in a corridor on the fourth floor to see Abraxas Malfoy, his huge back pressed against the wall, with Leta's wand at his throat. The fact that he was nearly a foot taller than her, didn't seem to bother the Slytherin witch, her eyes flashing angrily as she glared at him.

"You say that again and I swear I'll kill you," she spat the words up into his face, making his eyelids twitch involuntarily.

"Fuck you," Abraxas returned, equally viciously

"Hey!" Newt called, breaking into a loping half run, "What's going on?" he longed to throw his arm around her shoulders proprietorially as he approached the pair of them, to make some witty remark to diffuse the situation.

"Just teaching this prat some manners," sneered Leta.

"Come on," he said, his voice more sharp than normal as he grasped her by the elbow and ushered her away. This wasn't the first time he had noticed tension between the two Slytherins but whenever he asked Leta about it, she just said that it was family stuff and he wouldn't understand.

They were three clear steps away from him, Newt's shoulders tense and hunched with the effort of not turning round to make sure he wasn't going to get a curse in the back when he heard it. Abraxas muttering a single syllable under his breath. The pair of them wheeled round in unison.

"Say again?" Newt asked in as pleasant a tone as he could muster even though his insides were hot and squirming.

"She is a bitch Scamander, surely even you must be able to see it, even with the massive hard on you've got for her."

It was the hint of a smirk, crossing Leta's face, even in her fury that did it. Newt's wand was drawn before he was even aware he had done it. He had no idea what he was going to do, just that he wanted to pour all of his impotent anger out through the end of his wand into Malfoy.

Leta nudged him gently with her elbow, "Come on, let's leave him. He isn't worth getting in any trouble over."

"Scamander doesn't even know one end of the wand from the other, I'm hardly shitting myself here over him trying to curse me," Malfoy sniggered.

"You really don't know when to shut up, do you?" Now her wand snapped to attention, directed at the bigger boy's heart. Unlike Newt, she seemed perfectly calm, scarily so, "People think that the best way to kill someone is an Avada curse, but I think they are just unimaginative. Accelerente."

For a moment nothing happened and Newt wondered if something had gone wrong. Then he noticed Malfoy's normally pale face reddening, standing out starkly against his blonde hair, his eyes starting to bulge, his breath coming in pants. He pressed a shaking hand to his chest as his jugular vein thrummed and bulged in his neck. Newt's eyes darted from him, then down the corridor then to Leta who was smiling, her head cocked to the side as she watched in amusement.

"Stop it," he pleaded, slapping at her wand, "stop it, you're going to kill him,"

A shriek of horror rent the air and broke the spell. Three faces, one red and trembling, one pale and wide eyed and one blazing with triumph turned to see Galatea Merrythought, the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor standing hands on hips, clearly waiting for an explanation. A beat of silence stretched out paper thin.

"It was me Professor," Newt scuffed the ground with his foot, "My fault. A spell went wrong. Leta was trying to help," he slid a sidelong glance to Abraxas Malfoy who was massaging his chest, glaring evilly at Leta but it was clear that he was not going to contradict Newt's story. Perhaps due to an unspoken code that tales shouldn't be told to the teacher, or perhaps he had shrewdly ascertained that it would be better for house points to be deducted from Hufflepuff and in any case, he could catch up with Leta in the Common Room, when he had back up. He didn't even think to wonder if Leta would own up – she had told him in the past how her parents reacted to her behaving in a manner unfitting to a lady, as they called it. There had been other, smaller things that he had taken the blame for – a spilled cauldron, a note passed in class – so this was just a continuation of the larger lie that had grown in such small increments that it took him a moment to realise that trying to kill someone wasn't a playground game that he could easily smooth over.

Professor Merrythought eyed him skeptically. Newt's jaw jutted out sullenly as he silently dared her to voice what he knew she was thinking. That he, who was almost a squib, wasn't capable, even by accident of casting such a powerful spell. She pursed her lips, shaking her head almost imperceptibly, but seemed to guess that pressing the matter wouldn't achieve anything.

"Detention," she snapped finally, "Every night for a week."

One last look top Newt, almost hopeful, like she thought he might buckle under the weight of the punishment and tell the truth, before she swept along the corridor, her black robes swirling around her ankles as she chivvied Malfoy along and away from them.

"What did you do that for?" Leta frowned, sulkily confused.

Newt gazed at her through his fringe. He could hardly make claims to being her knight in shining armour. Not when it was obvious even to a moron like Malfoy that she was by far his superior. Taking the blame was the only offering he could think of making.

oOoOoOo

His eyelids, heavy and drooping, snapped open as his quill slid across the page. Perhaps there was something soporific about the History of Magic classroom. Whatever it was, it seemed to have had an effect on Professor Binns. Newt longed to lay his head down on the desk and sleep like the Professor but the sooner he finished writing the seven foot parchment on the history of Vampire migration across Europe that he had been tasked to do for his detention, the sooner he could leave the warm and dusty room, so he redoubled his efforts, dipping his quill into the ink well and scratching out a few more words.

A scraping at the window woke him up fully. The ink well tipped over, pouring its contents all over the parchment to drip down onto his robes. He jumped up, mopping at himself ineffectually, as Leta climbed in through the window.

"Rescue party's here," she grinned, as she slid into the desk next to his. Despite himself, despite the fact that he had spent the last three hours wondering whether he should confront her over what she had done to Abraxas, what she would have done if she hadn't been stopped, he smiled back.

"You shouldn't be here," he murmured, one eye on Binns, even though he knew deep down that were the Professor to wake, it was unlikely he'd notice an extra student.

"Actually, I should. It's you that shouldn't. I didn't need you to cover for me," Leta's arms were folded over her chest and she refused to meet his eyes. As though he had wronged her somehow by taking the punishment for her.

Newt laughed softly, nudging her thigh with his knee, "You're welcome," he revelled in the smile that broke across her face.

"Well I've come to break you out. One good turn deserves another"

"Leta," he pleaded, "I can't….what happened back there…." he trailed off, unable to formulate the words to explain that it wasn't just about sneaking out of detention. It was that she had scared him. That he hadn't liked her in those moments in the corridor, didn't like the glimpse of the darkness that he usually managed to pretend he couldn't see.

"I thought we were friends?" she asked sharply, her face a picture of dejection. He sighed. She did this from time to time, if something threatened to encroach on their bubble of friendship. Made him pledge his allegiance to her. Her possessiveness irritated him as much as it thrilled him with a sick pleasure.

"We are!" he urged, reaching out for her hand and chafing it between his own, "It's just, well, it's detention isn't it," he finished lamely.

"He's asleep!" She exclaimed, forgetting to maintain a whisper as she gesticulated towards the professor who nodded and snorted gently in response to her raised voice. They stifled giggles until the elderly Professor settled back down.

"Go on," she urged gently, "Let's get out of here for a bit. Oh don't sulk Newt. Don't be cross with me, I've said sorry," and with that she stood and stretched out her hand expectantly, as though that was the end of the matter.

Had she apologised? Was it even him she should be saying sorry to? Abraxas Malfoy was probably somewhere right now feeling his mortality acutely, being as it was nearly ended prematurely by an accelerating spell on his heart. Still, he supposed that wasn't his concern.

When they got to the window, a problem presented itself – there wasn't room in the narrow opening to both squeeze out onto the crumbling ledge and mount the broom she had used to get up to the window. Newt, as the stronger flyer, scrambled on and scooted back as far as he could without overbalancing, before holding out his large hands for her.

"Jump," he urged, as she balanced on the ledge, wavering. She looked down – a mistake – and clung back to the wall, "Trust me,"

For a moment he became the confident man that she spied from time to time in the Care of Magical Creatures lessons. The man she could see he would become. His tone, the way he looked out from under his thick curls to meet her eyes, the ghost of a smile on his lips. She jumped.

For a moment the broom dipped, then they soared upwards, both whooping cheers into the sky. Sat there on the broom, flying up towards the sun with Leta between his legs, her thin fingers snaked around his biceps as he gripped the broom. He'd have taken a hundred detentions just for that moment.

"Do you think we could fly this broom out of school and away from here?" she asked, as they swooped towards the perimeter of the grounds. She drew a knut from her pocket and threw it over the school wall and they both winced as it sparked against an invisible barrier and fell to the ground.

"That's a no then. Where would you even go if you could get out?"

"Sometimes I just want to get away from everything," she sighed, her eyes on the horizon. Eventually, he turned the broom around, sweeping lazily over the lake, flying up so high that they could see the entirety of the giant squid silhouetted darkly in the water. Then he dived down, enjoying the way she gripped onto his forearms tightly, until their feet skimmed across the surface of the water, sending ripples kicking out behind them.

Leta let go of his arms as they drifted a couple of feet above the surface of the water and steadied the broom, "Hold me tightly Newt," she instructed, then she was all elbows and pointed boots kicking him in the shins and hair in his eyes, the broom wobbling between his knees and somehow they didn't fall into the lake and she had turned to face him, knees touching, her hands over his on the handle of the broom.

There in the sunset with the wind whipping her hair around her head like a halo of crows, he wondered for the hundredth time, what she would do if he kissed her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: All of the characters and storylines mentioned here belong to J K Rowling**

 **Thanks to everyone who has reviewed or followed this story so far.**

* * *

As usual, Leta was waiting outside the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room for him that morning. The other Hufflepuffs didn't like it, as though she was some kind of spy, trying to finagle her way in to their private space, to learn its secrets and report them back to the Slytherins. Sometimes Newt wondered if she even went back to her Common Room overnight. She always left him by the barrels at curfew and was always there when he came out in morning, no matter how quickly he jumped out of bed, threw on his robes and attempted to tame his hair.

"Morning!" her voice squeaked with excitement and she giggled self-consciously, swinging her arms to and fro, unable to keep still.

"You're chipper today. Be careful, you'll be giving those scary Slytherins a bad reputation,"

She linked her arm through his and led him to a quiet alcove where she removed a small box from her robe, looking about slyly to make sure they weren't being observed. Her bergamot scent in such close quarters made Newt feel giddy.

"What is it?" his head was almost touching hers as she peeled open the lid to reveal several small, electric blue, pill-shaped objects, "oh, Billywig eggs!"

"My grandfather sent them to me from Australia. He's on a world tour, visiting different Ministries at the moment. I thought we could try and hatch them and maybe see if they'll sting us so we can observe the results," her olive skinned face was radiant with glee, reflecting Newt's own happiness back at him.

"I've got a book about them somewhere - I borrowed it from the library a few months ago. Come to think of it, it's probably rather late now," he scratched the back of his neck in consternation.

"Go and get it now and we can read it over breakfast," she urged. She skipped out of the alcove smack bang into Nathan Diggory, knocking all the breath out of him with a loud 'ooof'.

"Look where you're going," she hissed, narrowing her eyes, before turning on her heel and walking straight-backed, towards the Great Hall, brushing off her robes as though Diggory had dirtied them somehow. Newt smiled apologetically at him before jogging to catch her up.

"That's more like it. You'd give Salazar himself a run for his money," he attempted a joke, "Do you want me to go and get that book?"

"I'm not in the mood now."

"Breakfast then," Newt was long used to her mercurial temperament and tried not to let it affect his delight over the Billywig eggs he was looking forward to studying.

"I'd better sit at my own table today," Leta sighed regretfully, squeezing his hand as she peeled away from him. They ate together as often as their houses would tolerate having an outsider sitting at their table, meaning that she ate with the Hufflepuffs more than he ate with the Slytherins.

Newt nodded, drawing his lower lip between his teeth, as he trudged, head down, to his own table. It wouldn't do to annoy his housemates any more than he could help.

As Leta sat alone at the end of the Slytherin table, there was a flash and a bang and she squeaked in pain, jumping up for a moment before sitting back down, scowling down the length of the table. Newt followed her eyeline and saw Abraxas Malfoy sniggering with his friends and his hands clenched into fists involuntarily.

"A galleon says they kill each other before they've been married a year," Diggory observed conversationally as he sat down next to Newt and helped himself to a heaping plate of eggs and bacon.

"Eh?" Newt was only half listening, the majority of his attention on Malfoy, whose porridge seemed to have just exploded stickily all over him.

"They're betrothed. I would have thought she'd have told you, seeing as you're such great chums," Diggory grinned, looking pleased with himself for being the bearer of such news.

"Oh, err, yes. She did. Married. Sorry, I thought you said…confunded," Newt felt the heat rise out of his collar, turning his face beetroot red.

He rose stiffly out of his chair and walked as calmly as he could past the Slytherin table, praying to Paracelsus under his breath that Leta would notice him leaving. A wooden scrape of a bench behind him and a rush of feet told him she was following out into the corridor. He made an effort to unclench his balled fists.

"Are you alright? Or do I need to go back in there and start throwing hexes?" she asked, grabbing his elbow and steering him into a deserted classroom.

"Are you betrothed to Abraxas Malfoy?" the words came tumbling out, accusatory and petty, "Diggory just told me," he sighed, trying to slow his breathing.

"I would have thought it was below you to listen to rumours Newt, especially about me," she drew every inch of herself up haughtily and attempted to look down her nose at him.

"So it's not true?" He felt their friendship teetering on a knife edge, and her answer would determine whether it was either about to fall back into what it had always been or become something new, something where he was able to express his fervent dislike for the idea of her being betrothed to anyone that wasn't him.

"Of course it's not true, I'm going to run away with you and we're going to open a sanctuary for magical beasts and live off dew drops and sun beams," she laughed, spinning around and allowing her magic to spark out of her fingers.

"Be serious," he huffed, his arms folded across his chest, leaning back against a desk and watching her display.

"I don't know what you want me to say. Why on earth would I marry that ignorant oaf? Newt, don't be like this. Don't spoil things."

Leta sidled up to him, running her hands down the lapels of his robes but for once, the pleasure of her physical contact curdled in his belly. He wanted to ask her again, to make her promise that she wasn't betrothed to that bastard, but he was too much of a coward. Her lips were inches from his own. He could lean down and kiss her so easily now, close that space between them in half a heartbeat. Claim her as his, for that moment at least.

"The bell rang ages ago, I'm going to be late for Transfiguration," he shrugged off her concerned look, flung the door of the classroom open and strode down the corridor, leaving her staring in his wake.

oOoOoOo

Of all the lessons that Newt struggled with, transfiguration rated one of the highest. He always got distracted by philosophical thoughts of whether a transfigured hair brush really was a hand mirror or it remained, at its heart a hair brush, just waiting to be returned to its original state. Also, the practice of transfiguring animals always disturbed him. He knew that they didn't have the same level of awareness as magical creatures but it still seemed like an unnecessary cruelness. The fact that his mind was racing a mile a minute, trying desperately to turn Leta's half denials into concrete fact, made it all the worse this morning.

"And how are you getting on, young Scamander?" Despite the fact that Professor Dumbledore must have only been in his mid-thirties, he had the air of a much older man, so Newt didn't mind being called 'young' by him, which was fortunate as it seemed to be the Professor's chosen name for him.

Newt stared down in dismay at the mouse he was supposed to be trying to transfigure into a wineglass. So far all he had done was stroke it distractedly. He realised that he hadn't even picked up his wand and hoped that Dumbledore's keen eyes had failed him for once.

"Forgive me if I'm mistaken, but your heart doesn't seem to be in this. Would you prefer something else to practice on?

He nodded gratefully, and as Dumbledore fetched him a chalk duster, the mouse ran up his sleeve and into the breast pocket of his robes. He broke off a crumb of the toast he had taken from breakfast to feed to the his favourite half owl when he visited the owlery later, and held it out in his fingers to it, smiling at the way its whiskers twitched below its jewel bright eyes.

"You can't stay there, you know," he whispered indulgently, "Albert will think I'm bringing him a snack."

The mouse just nibbled the crumb and nestled down further into his pocket.

"Shall we at least attempt a little transfiguration today?" Dumbledore asked, attempting to damp down his smile behind his auburn beard. Newt fumbled for his wand, his brow furrowed and pointed it at the duster. His first attempt was quite good, for him. The duster definitely became more transparent and grew a long stem. He looked nervously at Dumbledore but he was looking indulgently at Newt's pocket, or more specifically, the mouse peeking out from it.

"I change them back at the end of the lesson, you know," he confided to Newt who didn't want to admit that he had wanted to ask that very question but who nevertheless relaxed slightly as he watched the other students enthusiastically attempting to transfigure their furry subjects, "And it doesn't hurt at all," Dumbledore pointed his wand at his face and transfigured his visage into Headmaster Black's then back again, smiling the whole time.

"I know I'm being silly, they're only mice after all," Newt mumbled, breaking off another crumb and feeding it to the mouse.

"It's a refreshing opinion, young Scamander, that one life is just as valuable as another. Something tells me that you wouldn't prescribe to the theory of the Greater Good."

Newt started slightly. The views of the dark wizard who was currently terrorising Europe were hardly normal subject matter for a transfiguration class but Dumbledore was looking at him almost amusedly, his piercing blue eyes sparkling, as though his opinion really mattered. He chose his words carefully. These kind of discussions always made him nervous of saying the wrong thing, "Well Sir, no. It sounds like the sort of thing where a lot of people could end up getting hurt."

"Wise words, wise words indeed," Dumbledore placed his hand heavily on Newt's shoulder for a moment before standing slowly and returning to the front of the class where he sat at his desk, staring into the unseen distance for the last ten minutes of the lesson.

Leta was waiting outside the classroom for him at the end, worrying the cuff of her robes in between her fingers, "Don't ever walk away from me again, Newt," she whispered into his ear as she threw her arms around his neck, pressing the full length of her body against his.

* * *

 **Please review if you are enjoying this story.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: All characters and storylines used here from the Harry Potter universe and Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them belong to J K Rowling.**

 **Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed, followed or favourited this story so far.**

* * *

As seemed to be the way every year, exams were on them before they had barely seemed to have packed away the Christmas decorations. Leta and Newt spent long hours in the library, attempting to drill facts into his head until he could tell that he was irritating even her and he felt so full of information he might burst. All too soon, the first exam rolled around.

"Nervous?" Leta asked, squeezing his hand as they waited to go in.

"Just a smidge," he grimaced, returning the squeeze.

However, after long two weeks of sitting with his long limbs cramped at a desk in the Great Hall, feeling like fire ants were crawling through his brain as he tried to winkle facts out of the remote crevices of his brain and pin them down onto the paper, it was at last time for their final exam – care of magical creatures.

As luck would have it, he and Leta were called into the hall at the same time. He chanced a wink at her and she grinned back. They hadn't actually dedicated any time to revising this subject, unless you could call their continued extra-curricular research into magical creatures revision, yet he was more than confident that they would both pass with flying colours.

He was just making his way to the screened off area that the wizened examiner was waving him over to, already noting with glee a profusion of horklumps – something he had been dealing with competently since he was eight years old – when a commotion on the other side of the hall distracted him.

A high pitched, metallic screeching, a flurry of wings and a flash of claws. A hippogriff had broken loose from its handler. A flash of annoyance rippled through him for a moment – any competent handler would know that bringing such a beast into an enclosed space, to be manhandled by nervous students more concerned with passing their exam than remembering the proper etiquette was bound to end in trouble – before his instinct took over and he broke into a run towards the creature, his wand outstretched. The hippogriff reared up on its hind legs, screeching louder than ever. Professor Kettleburn edged towards it, arms held out in front of him, but the hippogriff suddenly pulled free from the chain attached to the collar around its neck and rushed at him in a blind panic. The Professor was knocked to the floor, his head cracking noisily against a flagstone, and he didn't get back up.

Newt caught sight of Leta out of the corner of his eye, moving with infinitesimal slowness towards the creature, her head bowed low, her eyes downcast through her curtain of long raven hair. He trained his wand towards the hippogriff, prepared to stun it if it reared again, but other than pawing the ground in distress, its feathers puffed agitatedly, it seemed to make no move to attack. He glanced quickly around the room and noted that the other examiners were set back from them, holding their wands similarly to him but seeming to be allowing them to take charge.

Leta was crooning lowly under her breath as she shuffled closer and closer, until she was directly before it, bowing low. The hippogriff didn't return the action, watching her coldly with its enormous orange eyes. She made to try again but it hissed at her and she stepped back carefully. Newt then pocketed his wand, feeling the palpable tension in the room settle on to him as he stepped forwards, his head dipped, and the palms of his hands resting on his thighs.

"Come on girl, come on," he whispered, peeking up at the hippogriff. To his relief, it grudgingly bowed its head to him. He moved slowly and carefully, running his competent hands over the plumage on its wings and neck to make sure no damage had been done to it during the struggle but it seemed to be unharmed.

Apparating the beast out would be too dangerous, he knew that, "Open the windows," he murmured to Leta, who ran to throw the massive stained glass windows wide open. Keeping his head low, he led the beast over to the window and climbed out ahead of it, fingers gripping tightly to the stone sill as he made the small drop down to the ground. His heart was in his mouth as he waited to see if it would follow but after an almost eternal moment, he saw it stretching its long neck out of the window, sniffing the fresh air. Disdainfully the hippogriff stepped out onto the window ledge, its wings brushing the window and peered down at him with a tiny nod of the head, before taking flight in the direction of the distant mountains.

He breathed deeply for a moment, wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers, before scrambling back into the room. There was a beat of silence then, slowly at first, but soon spreading across the assembled students and professors, soft applause broke out. Newt rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously, biting back a smile as he hid behind his fringe.

Eventually the room settled down and the exams recommenced but he found himself no longer being tested by the ancient but friendly examiner but his own Care of Magical Creatures teacher, Professor Kettleburn. He sat across the desk from him, his shock of wiry red hair escaping from under the hastily applied bandage to his head.

"It seems almost churlish to give you an exam now," the professor, who must only have been in his late twenties, grinned ruefully.

"It's alright Sir, I don't mind," Newt smiled as he placed his hands palm down onto the desk, allowing the bowtruckles that were creeping out of a box full of leaves, to clamber over his outstretched fingers. It was true, he didn't mind. He'd rather sit Care of Magical Creatures exams every day than try to puzzle out the mysteries of human behaviour.

Professor Kettleburn humoured him, perhaps more because the boy seemed so content to sit and play with the small, twiglike creatures, than any need to assess his abilities. He asked him a few basic questions about the identification and care of bowtruckles but it was more like a friendly chat of two equals than a stringent exam. Not that Newt seemed to notice; he was too taken by a tiny bowtruckle, scarcely bigger than his thumbnail.

"He's called Pickett," the Professor offered, "a newborn. He just hatched yesterday. He seems to have taken to you,"

Newt looked up from the tiny green creature who was clinging ticklishly to his wrist as it attempted to climb up his sleeve.

"Pickett," he murmured to the bowtruckle, earning a chirruping purr as reward.

Professor Kettleburn leaned back in his chair, his arms folded over his chest, "Scamander, it goes without saying you've got an outstanding in your exam. But have you thought about the future? You're the most talented student I've ever met,"

"Well that's hardly difficult, Sir, you've only been teaching for three years."

"Don't be obtuse, Scamander, it doesn't suit you, and don't let your talents go to waste. I'd hate to see you end up mouldering away in some Ministry Department. I've got some contacts with some dragon handlers if you're interested."

"Thank you Sir," Newt smiled shyly.

"Go on then, get out of here, enjoy the holidays," Kettleburn smiled indulgently as Newt had to prise the furious Pickett away from the crook of his elbow with gentle fingers, "and think about those dragons," he called after him as he hurried from the hall.

oOoOoOo

Leta and Newt were lounging in the shade of the beech tree by the lake. Leta was attempting to perfect a bubblehead charm so she could go under the water and study the merpeople more closely but Newt, worn out with the effort of studying, was happy just to lay on the grass and allow the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves to play over his closed eyelids, creating red and black patterns in his vision.

Finally seeming exhausted by the effort, she flopped down next to him, folding her arms behind her head.

"The whole summer ahead of us," Newt grinned in satisfaction, yet a small anxiety niggled in the pit of his stomach. The summer holidays meant being apart, with only the promise of owl correspondence to soften the blow, "did you, err, I don't suppose you want to visit me during the holidays? It would be quite proper!" he elaborated, his cheeks pinking.

Leta giggled, "Oh quite proper, would it be? And what might that entail? No sneaking into my bedroom in the dead of night to make mad, passionate love to me?"

"Of course not!" his voice squeaked embarrassingly at the strength of his denial. His face now was rather red and hot, not helped by the tantalising image that Leta had just provided him with.

"No, of course not," she sighed, a small smile playing over her lips as she patted him consolingly on the leg. He propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at her, drinking in the almost luminous golden glow of her skin, the brush of her eyelashes on her cheek.

"My mother could write to your mother. I know she doesn't think much of our family name but we are at least purebloods and that might…."

"We're going to Bulgaria for the summer," Leta cut him off, and although her voice was sorrowful, her eyes were bright and keen.

Newt sat bolt upright, "Bulgaria? Whatever for? Is it to do with your grandfather's work? Maybe you should stay at home – I saw in the Prophet that Grindelwald's followers have been massing in Bulgaria."

Leta smirked to herself, a sly smile that slithered across her face for just a moment.

"Oh," said Newt, flatly, feeling stupid.

"You know what father's like, he loves to kiss up to anyone with a bit of power," she shrugged, as though it didn't mean anything. As though she spent hours telling him about the whims of her father, someone she had, in reality, told him almost nothing about.

Newt swallowed deeply. They had been avoiding this subject for so long. His willful ignorance of her family's proclivities. Her glossing over the complications that being one of the country's pureblooded elite presented her with. Being from an impoverished and often ridiculed family, he had little more than a suspicion as to how closely dark magic was woven into the lives of the old families, "Even when that power comes from dark magic? Even when he's happy to kill for power?"

"Father says a lot of the stuff in the papers is just exaggerated. You shouldn't believe everything you read, Newt." She looked down at him contemptuously. Newt was reminded, just for a second, of the way young children dress up in their parents clothes and parrot things they say, effecting their mannerisms as they trip about in overly large shoes, " Some of the things he says make a lot of sense. Why should we skulk around in the shadows hiding from muggles? I'd have thought you'd agree with that one – just think, all your precious beasts would have the run of the land, instead of cowering in unplottable forests where the Ministry contains them." If he thought that would persuade him, she was quite wrong. The decimation in numbers of magical creatures had more to do with over enthusiastic hunting by wizards for potion ingredients than their need to hide from muggles. The fact that she would even say such a thing, when they had spent so many hours discussing the conservation of magical creatures rankled deeply.

"Don't go. Stay with me," he was aware that he was begging, sounding desperate but he didn't care. He could feel something growing between them, expanding as rapidly and dangerously as an Occamy, coiling about them and forcing them down channels that it would not be easy to return from.

"You're being ridiculous, you know I can't do that," Leta laughed bitterly, her hands on her hips. Somehow they were both standing now, although Newt didn't remember getting to his feet.

"I'm being ridiculous, when you're the one traipsing half way round the world to court some mad man?" it was the first time he could remember raising his voice to her, and she shrank back as though he had raised a hand to her.

"Well why don't you come with me? See for yourself what he's got to say. Make your own mind up instead of believing rumours," for a moment he entertained the idea, allowed it to unfold, shining bright in his mind's eye. He could go along with her, be her protector and savior, rescue her from the darkness. Then he remembered that he was a gangly teenager who didn't even have the balls to tell a girl he fancied her, let alone confront a dark wizard who was seizing power all over mainland Europe.

"I don't think so," he stuffed his hands into his pockets, kicking at a tuft of grass with the toe of his boot.

"Don't make me choose between you and my family,"

"Me?" he laughed incredulously, "This isn't about me and – this is about right and wrong!"

"I thought we were friends?" she grabbed his hand and kneaded it between her own, her eyes wide and beseeching as she asked him the question that she had asked so many times before. He fought his own nature not to answer automatically, to appease her, to make her smile.

"So did I," he muttered sadly, as he strode away, leaving her under the beech tree. She made no attempt to follow him.

* * *

 **I love reviews like a niffler loves gold.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me**

 **A/N confession time! I messed up on the timeline! I thought Armando Dippet was headmaster when Newt was at school. I even mentioned him last chapter. But I've since realised it would have been Phineas Nigellus Black. So I've gone back and fixed that, just in case anyone is confused.**

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Those summer holidays between the sixth and seventh years were the longest six weeks of Newt's life. His days seemed to follow an interminable rhythm of waking up, trying not to think about Leta and killing time before he could go to bed again. He considered crossing off the days on his calendar but decided against it on the basis of it being a little too melodramatic even for a teenager.

He made no attempt to contact Leta. He wasn't even sure how long she was going to be in Bulgaria for – he assumed the whole holiday – and who with. He tried to tell himself that his fear of getting her in trouble was greater than his fear of his owl being returned with the parchment unopened, and sometimes he even believed it himself. He did not hear anything from her and did not expect to. He had walked away from her in anger, after she had ordered him not to, and what was more, he had made no attempt to apologise before they had gone home. They hadn't even ridden in the same carriage on the Express – she had gone in a carriage with his fellow Slytherins and Newt had to suffer the shame of sitting in an empty seat in a carriage with a bunch of first years and listen to their incessant squabbling and gossiping. It mainly revolved about one of them having a ridiculous name – Fleabon, or something similar – and exceptionally messy hair. He'd seen Leta on the platform at King's Cross and had done a funny sort of half wave, half salute that he had cringed about the entire journey back home to Devon. She had merely frowned at him. Merlin only knew how long she was going to bear a grudge for. Bearing a grudge was something that Leta was exceptionally proficient at, after all. Possibly forever. The thought of forever without Leta Lestrange made Newt's chest ache and a lump appear in his throat that he couldn't swallow down no matter how hard he tried.

His parents had tried to ask him what was wrong but he hadn't got his nervy awkwardness from nowhere and after a few stilted efforts they had left him alone. He helped out on the Hippogriff breeding colony that his mother ran, and went to the local pub sometimes in the evening with his father for a pint or two of ale but his heart wasn't in it. More often than not he would spend long hours lying on his narrow, iron framed bed, with his hands tucked behind his head, staring at the crack on the ceiling that looked like a quintaped.

One unseasonably gloomy day, he was awakened from his melancholic introspection by a tapping at the window. His heart rose up into his mouth as he realised it was an owl, demanding entry. It couldn't be the owl who brought him the Prophet – he had cancelled that. He couldn't bring himself to scour the paper even one more time, for news of any occurrences or deaths on the continent. Maybe Leta had relented, maybe she had returned from Bulgaria early, maybe she was writing to tell him that their brief period of absence had made her realise that she couldn't be without him! In the two seconds it took to cross the room from his bed to the window, he had managed to spin such fantastic castles of possibility in his mind that when he saw Albert nibbling at the window catch, his mouth dropped open in surprise that it wasn't the Lestrange family's darkly feathered tawny owl.

Swallowing down bitter disappointment, he opened the window and let the little owl climb onto his hand where he held out the small package tied to his leg for Newt to take, chirruping excitedly.

Utterly confused as to why he would be getting an owl from Hogwarts, and worried that the surprisingly acceptable exam results that had arrived the previous week may have been a horrible mix up, he tore open the attached parchment. Enclosed was a brief note in a messy, hurried script that he recognised as Professor Kettleburn's

 _They are both pining for you. Please keep them for the rest of the holidays and return them when you come back_

Newt looked up from the parchment utterly bemused to see Albert quirking his head at him hopefully.

Newt stroked the feathers on the top of his head, "I do hope you haven't been causing trouble at Hogwarts," he teased, causing the owl to hoot an indignant denial, "But what does he mean by both?"

Newt carefully lifted the lid to see Pickett the baby bowtruckle, fast asleep on a bed of leaves. He shook his head fondly at the little creature, barely more than a sprout. He had spent a lot of time with it in the last few days of term and it seemed to have accepted Newt as some kind of mother figure.

Having the pair of them with him made the last few weeks of the holiday a little easier. He was rarely seen without Albert perched on his shoulder and the telltale bump in the pocket of his robes where the tiny bowtruckle seemed to like to reside. Looking after the pair of them gave him a feeling of purpose and responsibility. It also made him wonder about what other animals he could look after, wove ideas about dragons through his thoughts. Perhaps that was why Professor Kettleburn had sent them to him. After all, he only had one year of school to go and he needed to make plans. Ever since Leta had mockingly suggested opening a sanctuary for magical creatures together he had fantasised about the idea from time to time but he needed to live in the real world and put these silly ideas of Leta and him, alone in some wild terrain, surrounded by beasts, out of his head. As a way of making this resolution more concrete he sent off for several thick tomes about dragons and endeavoured to learn all he could about them.

He got a few odd looks on the train back to school, seeing as he carried his owl on his shoulder rather than in a cage, like all of the other students, but the only person whose opinion mattered to him was absent from the platform when he arrived. He longed to search the length of the train for her, just to hold her by the shoulders and look into her dark eyes to make sure she really and truly was back safely but instead he settled into the same carriage he had travelled in at the beginning of the summer. Fleamore, or whatever his name was, seemed to have applied some treatment to his hair so his dark locks clung in oily clumps to his head, which the others teased him about even more than they had when his hair had been a mess.

It wasn't until they were sitting down to dinner that he managed to catch a glimpse of her, over at the Slytherin table. The Hufflepuff quidditch captain had pulled him aside just before dinner and offered him the place of chaser on the team that year and his first thought had been, before he even opened his mouth to accept, was 'wait till I tell Leta'. He was half out of his seat to go and just spill out his apology to her and hope against hope that she would smile that sharp smile at him and they could just pretend it never happened, when he noticed something. She wasn't sitting at the end of the table, as far away as she could get from her housemates, she was sitting in their midst. They seemed to be hanging onto the words of a tale she was telling. He sank back onto the bench, defeated.

Just at that point, when he had been trying to work out if he could sneak out of the feast early, the noise in the hall dimmed, and Professor Black, the headmaster, rose from his seat.

"Welcome back students, to another year at Hogwarts," he barely disguised the disdain from his peevish, reedy voice, and Newt wondered, not for the first time, why he continued his role as headmaster when he clearly hated the job, "I wish I could stand before you and wish you a wonderful year, wallowing contentedly in your ignorance, however, that is not, I fear, to be. For so long we have lived in a peaceful time. But I worry that this soon may be threatened. There is dissonance amongst wizards and muggles alike. Both the Ministry and the Muggle government tell us that these stirrings are contained to Europe and that we should close our eyes and our borders to it. But it may already be too late. That war is coming. I look at you young students, and I feel afraid. Afraid that the mistakes made by previous generations will be meted out on you. Muggles have technology now that can match the power of wizards. Flying machines – without brooms. Bombs that can rip a city apart faster than a reductor curse. And we must trust them to wield the power wisely -"

"Or take it away from them," a voice from towards the back of the hall muttered, just a shade too loudly. Every head in the room swiveled in unison to the source of the disruption. Interrupting the headmaster's address was almost unheard of, even by accident. Professor Black frowned along the length of the Slytherin table as Abraxas Malfoy slowly stood up.

"Mr Malfoy?"

"Muggles are going to tear the world apart and we're going to let them because of some stupid secrecy laws. If a bomb falls on Hogwarts, or the Ministry, or my parents' house; all the magic in the world isn't going to put the bits back together again,"

Gasps and excited whispers rippled around the room but Black just raised both hands in a call for calm.

"We must not interfere in the business of muggles." Black looked weary of the subject and spoke with a finality that Malfoy ignored.

"They aren't capable of making the right decisions – we need to help them. Come on now Professor, you've never made a secret on your views on muggles and muggleborns, why start defending them now?"

"I am doing my duty as headmaster, which is to defend the school. That kind of change comes at a great cost, Mr Malfoy, whatever we may hear about the Greater Good. And I will not let that cost be paid by my students. Any of them," Newt could see Headmaster Black's shaking at his sides.

"Hypocrite," Malfoy smirked, looking down to his cronies sitting around him who nudged each other in amusement, "You've spent years acting like you know best, saying how if you had your way, muggle borns would be banned from the school. And now someone comes along with the power to make that happen, you run scared, dropping your principles behind you."

"Mr Malfoy," Headmaster Black's voice rose an octave, sounding slightly shrill and panicked. Newt could see Professor Dumbledore, sat next to the headmaster, pinching the bridge of his crooked nose with his fingertips, "You are of age. If you find that you have outgrown this school, then I cannot prevent you from leaving Hogwarts. I'm sure Durmstrang would be proud to have you as a student."

Abraxas Malfoy just nodded once, slowly, before stepping over the wooden bench and leaving the hall. Professor Black sat back down at the staff table, shaking his head, headmaster's speech seemingly over, as the hall exploded into rapid, scandalised chatter about what had just happened.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Not mine. The characters and storylines belong to JK Rowling**

 **This story is unbeta'd so apologies for any errors**

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Three days after the beginning of term, Professor Kettleburn was waiting for Newt outside the transfiguration classroom, with singed robes and a nasty looking burn down the side of his face.

"Newt," he looked as though his words were dragging him over broken glass, "Newt. I've got some bad news. There was a fire, in the Forbidden Forest. I'm so sorry…." he trailed off, swiping his hands over his brow. Newt's stomach turned over queasily. "It was the old elm tree, where the bowtruckles' colony is. I managed to save them all except…I lost Pickett."

He rested his hand heavily on Newts shoulder.

Newt looked down at his feet, shifting guiltily, "Ah," he exhaled, tapping his pocket. A green twig unfurled itself, peeking out at the Professor.

Professor Kettleburn sagged in relief murmuring thanks to Merlin under his breath, before trying to pull his expression into some semblance of authoritativeness.

"He's not a pet, Mr Scamander. He needs to live with his kind," but he was trying very hard to not smile.

"He has separation issues," Newt mumbled, his cheeks colouring, "what started the fire?"

The Professor's wiry brows knitted together in confusion, "I don't know. There's a lot of creatures living in the forest but this is something different. Students maybe? Messing about with spells? I don't know," he repeated uselessly, with a deep sigh, "Right, I need some burn salve and a cup of tea. You put that bowtruckle back with the others today," and he was off down the corridor.

"Did you hear that? I need to put you back into the forest. Oh don't sulk," Newt grinned, as the creature burrowed deeply into his pocket.

oOoOoOo

Newt was picking at a plate of shepherds pie, trying to resist the almost magnetic pull of his gaze over to the Slytherin table. He had spent more time in the past few days than was possibly healthy, observing Leta from afar. He supposed that if he were inclined to write a book, he could easily fill a decent publication detailing the different faces of Leta Lestrange. There was the disdainful sneer she normally reserved for other people. This particular listing would have an addendum that in recent days, since her return from Bulgaria presumably, that she had started to smirk conspiratorially with a few of her housemates – a closed faced spiteful look that Newt realised regretfully made her look much less pretty. Then there was the warm smile that she reserved solely for him, the one that felt almost like a hug just to see it. How he missed it. And in the last few days, there had been something new, a pinched, pained expression, only there when she thought no one was watching.

Newt growled under his breath as he realised he was doing it again. Watching her. Watching as she scribbled on a scrap of parchment and ignored her dinner. Redoubling his efforts, he dug his fork into his dinner and attempted to concentrate on his food. Suddenly a butterfly fluttered down next to his plate. He reached out a finger to touch it and realised it was a pieces of folded paper, charmed to fly. It unfolded in front of him, revealing a swirling script.

 _Meet me outside your common room. Tonight at midnight._

He looked up to grin at her, feeling as though his heart was going to burst into rays of sunshine, but she was gone.

oOoOoOo

He slipped out of the dormitory and through the common room, guided only by the dying embers of the fire in the grate, without seeing anyone. He paused at the door for a moment to smooth down the front of his robes, which were slightly crumpled after he had gone to bed fully dressed; before creeping out into the corridor.

And there she was - his long drink of water in the desert - twisting the sleeve of her robe between her fingers and biting her lip contritely. He closed the distance between them in two strides.

"I missed you, s-so much," he whispered, aching to reach out and touch her. She seemed to be feeling the same because she reached out tentatively and brushed the cheek with the backs of her fingers.

"I missed you too."

"How was Bulgaria?" he could have kicked himself the moment he asked. He had spent the last two hours ordering himself not to ask about bloody Bulgaria, and it was the first sodding thing he blurted out.

Leta shook her head as though trying to dislodge bad memories, "I don't want to talk about it."

"Why the secrecy about meeting me? Have your parents forbidden you to talk to me?" worry spiked in his chest.

"No. It's…I need your help," she looked up at him beseechingly, "I was down in the Forbidden Forest today. Don't ask me why," she raised a warning finger to him, "and I saw something. A creature."

"You're shaking," Newt frowned, "what was it?"

Leta seemed reluctant to meet his gaze, "a Dragon," she mumbled.

Newt took a sharp intake of breath. You didn't have to be a demiguise to predict the havoc a dragon in the school grounds could cause, "You must be wrong. There are no dragons native to this area and besides, how would it get in past all the enchantments? Are you sure it wasn't –"

"It was a dragon!" Leta insisted, "I got full marks in my care of magical creatures exams, same as you. I know a dragon when I see one. Only, I think it's hurt. It's not moving or anything. I thought you'd know what to do."

"I think we should tell the headmaster if there's a dragon in the forest." Newt's voice came out a lot more shrilly than it normally did and he carded his fingers through his hair.

"By the time we speak to the headmaster, it might be too late. Come with me now," she urged, tugging at his robes, "You didn't see it, it needs help."

"I just don't think we should be sneaking around in the middle of the night after creatures."

"Newt, I need you," she whispered, her eyes wide and pleading. She turned and took a few steps as though that was the end of the discussion, before she looked back over her shoulder and beckoned him urgently. He didn't even hesitate before following after her. Their footsteps echoed down deserted corridors but they didn't meet as much as a ghost as they hurried through the sleeping school and slipped out of the side door.

Newt was almost hyperventilating at such a massive breach of the rules but he had never seen Leta look so scared and that trumped any fear of retribution. He'd follow her to the ends of the earth if she asked, he was sure of it. They continued in silence past the quidditch pitch and to the outskirts of the wood.

"I just found it here, just lying there on the ground. It wasn't moving," she whispered, as she edged deeper into the undergrowth, her wand point shining faintly in the darkness. The forest was eerily silent, as though the other animals could sense the danger. After a few minutes of tripping over concealed tree roots and being scratched across the face by low hanging branches, they reached a clearing.

"There it is," Leta breathed, gripping his hand tightly.

Newt peered through the gloom and could make out the outline of something large slumped onto the floor in front of him. The moonlight above them was reflecting down onto its scales, making them shine like gold. But the reddish firey glow that it should be emitting was almost gone.

"Shhhhit" Newt eased out though his teeth, "It's a dragon."

"Told you so," Leta whispered, with a nervous giggle. Newt left her side and began to inspect every inch of the dragon.

"It's received some curse damage," he frowned, running his hands over its scales, feeling the interruption in the pattern over what looked like a deep gash, "and it's too cold. This is a Peruvian Vipertooth. They normally live in the desert. I can't be sure but I think it's been shocked into a hibernatory state. Not that that's a bad thing right now. But it can't stay like this - its flame is in danger of going out."

"Can't you help it?" She wrung her hands in distress. He could see the gleam of tears in her eyes.

"If I do anything to it, I could wake it up and I don't fancy facing a cranky dragon with morning breath, do you?" he paced the length of the animal again, "What's it even doing here?" Newt shouted in a rare loss of temper.

Leta choked down a sob and covered her hands with her eyes. Newt ran to her side and grasped her gently by the elbows.

"It's ok, it's ok. It'll be alright," he murmured in the voice he normally reserved for the more skittish and frightened animals, "I'll fetch Professor Kettleburn and he'll know what to do. He's got friends that work with dragons, maybe he could -"

"No!" her hands shot to his in a jerky panicked motion that stopped him in his tracks. "We'll get into trouble. We're in the Forbidden Forest, in the middle of the night, past curfew. We'll get expelled!" her eyes flickered between Newt and the dragon nervously.

He thought he heard it in her voice then, even under the fear, the cunning edge so valued by Salazar. What she was really asking of him. To take the blame, once more. He felt the grinding, grudging resentment warring with the giddy desire to please her, to warn a hard won smile from her.

"You go back to the castle, I'll go and fetch Professor Kettleburn. Don't worry," he assured her, trying to sound braver than he felt.

"Don't worry? We're going to get expelled!"

"Worrying about something just means you'll suffer twice," he grimaced wryly, "Right, you go ahead, I'll give you a head start of a few minutes, then head back to the school,"

She nodded, with one more long look at the dragon, then peeled away from him. She was almost out of the clearing when she ran back and threw her arms around his neck.

"I really have missed you, Newt," she whispered, her breath hot on his neck. "I knew you'd help me. I'm not like you, you always know the right thing to do because you're good, through and through, so it's easy for you. I just get so confused!" she grabbed a handful of her hair in frustration, "You don't know how hard it is for me!"

He reached out and smoothed her hand away from her face. She was luminous in the dull glow from the dragon. Newt swallowed hard, feeling like all of the moisture in his mouth had migrated to his hands in an instant, as her searing gaze dipped from his hazel eyes to his lips. His hand stilled on her cheek.

He leaned his head down towards her, just an inch, maybe less. But it was enough. Her body melded against his compliantly and her lids flickered closed as her face tilted up to him. He could have counted every one of her eyelashes if he'd wanted to. Hesitantly, as though he might have misread the situation, and with his heart banging in his chest so hard he could almost feel the blood and adrenaline just surging through it, he closed the gap between their lips.

She was warm and cold, hard and soft, diamonds and ice and fire all at once. Her hand threaded up into his hair and pulled him in to deepen the kiss. The lips he'd spent so long imagining moved against his own, gently at first, before working to a frantic pace. Her bergamot scent swirled around him, making him feel giddy and he had to open his eyes for just a second to check that he really was finally kissing her.

He didn't know how he managed to pull away from her, and the sight of her when he did, her lips rosy, her breath coming in pants, almost undid him, but he knew that if he kissed her again, he wouldn't be able to stop.

"Run back to the castle," he ordered. She nodded slowly and without a word, ran from the clearing.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: Any of the characters and scenarios mentioned here belong to the world of Harry Potter and Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, both written by JK Rowling.**

 **Hi everyone who is following this story, it's nearly done now. Just two, maybe three chapters to go. Thanks for reading this far.**

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Newt listened to her footsteps recede until there was nothing but silence. It was almost as though the other animals of the forest could sense the danger and were in hiding. In the shock of the kiss, he had almost forgotten the bloody great dragon.

As he attempted to stop himself hyperventilating, by counting slowly back from five hundred, he tried to imagine how the dragon had found itself in the forbidden forest. Although dragon migration wasn't unheard of, it was incredibly unlikely for one to have travelled so far under its own steam. Not impossible though, and how else could you begin to explain it? Presumably it could smell the magic – that's why it ended up here, of all places. It explained the fire in the bowtruckle tree at least.

And what had Leta been doing in the forest? Meeting someone? Was it possible that someone had somehow introduced the dragon into Hogwarts and then tricked her into coming into the forest so the dragon would hurt her? His hands clenched into fists at the possibility.

He placed his hand absently on the dragon's side again. It was almost cold; barely even a flicker of warmth under his fingers. Hoping against hope that Leta had got back to the castle by now, he decided that there wasn't any more time to lose, and set off to find Professor Kettleburn.

Unfortunately, he must have used up his entire lifetime's luck on that kiss because it was not Professor Kettleburn that Newt ran headlong into as he hurried round a corner, but Professor Black.

"Scamander? What in the name of Salazar are you doing gallivanting around the castle in the middle of the night?" his voice was almost shrill as he drew himself up pompously, pointing his brightly lit wand tip directly into Newt's face.

Newt squinted into the bright light. He had many admirable qualities, he knew, but being able to come up with a cunning plan at a moment's notice was definitely a skill that he needed to work on. His mind drained of thought faster than a bucket with a hole in it.

"I need to see Professor Kettleburn, Sir. There's…a creature that needs his help," he neglected to mention that the animal in question was a dragon. Something told him that announcing that fact wouldn't help him at that moment.

"At this hour? I'm quite sure that Professor Kettleburn wouldn't leave a pupil in charge of any of his creatures overnight, particularly one that's unwell. Come on, let's have the truth now, and no more stories. What is it? Midnight feast? Or something a bit more unsavoury? And what makes you think you're so special? Oh there'll be serious repercussions for this, my boy, I can tell you that now for free," Professor Black was practically rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

Panic rendered Newt almost nonsensical. He knew that the chances of him being able to reach Professor Kettleburn now were tiny, and yet, he must. What was the alternative? "I'm so sorry Sir, I really do just…please," he took half a step along the corridor in an attempt to get closer to the Care of Magical Creatures Professor's quarters, hoping in vain that the headmaster would follow him.

Perhaps the school itself could feel Newt's fear and desire to do the right thing, and sent aid, or perhaps Peeves was just attracted by the shouting, but the poltergeist drifted down through the ceiling to them, singing at the top of his voice and pelting them both with pieces of chalk,

"Students out after dark, sneaking in the corridors, what a lark. Headmaster's caught you before you got back, now you'll have a spanking from old man Black," and he made all of the torches ignite in their sconces all down the corridor and the suits of armour clank and shake.

All of the air left Newt's lungs in a rush of relief as he saw Professor Kettleburn stumbling bleary eyed from a nearby doorway, shrugging his robes on as he came and attempting to flatten his wiry hair into some semblance of normality.

"What's going on here? Newt?"

Newt could feel the headmaster bristling beside him, "I need your help," he panted, giddy with relief, "There's something in the forest -"

"The forest!?" if Professor Black had been angry before, he was positively incandescent now, "Are you trying to say that you've been in the Forbidden Forest tonight? Oho! Tell me a reason right now why I shouldn't expel you this very minute?" His eyes gleamed and his dark, pointed beard wagged with glee.

Newt dragged every ounce of courage right up from his toes and looked earnestly into Professor Kettleburn's eyes, knowing that this might be his only chance to tell him and save the dragon's life, "There's a dragon in the forest. I'm pretty sure it's a Peruvian Vipertooth but its fire is going out. It needs help. I didn't want to do a warming spell on it in case I distressed it," then he braced himself for the onslaught.

Professors Dumbledore and Merrythought hurried from opposite ends of the corridor to see what had caused the commotion, just in time to hear this proclamation. Professor Merrythought's hand flew to her mouth in shock

Professor Black seemed too angry to do much more than repeat what Newt had said, in screechingly incredulous tones, flecks of spittle flying from his mouth as he did so; "A dragon? In the forest? Do a warming spell on it?"

Professor Kettleburn ignored Phineas's rantings and leaned down to look Newt in the eyes, "A dragon?" he whispered, "A Peruvian Vipertooth? Are you sure it wasn't a Hebridean Black? They sometimes find their way to the mainland."

Newt shook his head, "I don't think so. I've been reading up on dragons." Professor Kettleburn couldn't quite contain a proud smile at his student as he continued, "it was too small. It could have been a baby I suppose, but its scales were more coppery than black."

"You can't tell me you actually believe this, Silvanus?" Professor Black shrieked.

"He isn't normally the sort of boy to make up stories, especially about the welfare of creatures. You said it was hurt?" he turned his pale blue eyes to Newt again, who felt a tiny spot of hope ignite inside him.

"It was very cold, and looked like it had been cut by something," he mumbled.

"Hmm, the shock might have forced it into hibernation," Kettleburn mused. If Newt had not known the danger that the beast posed to the school, he would have thought that his Professor looked excited at the prospect of encountering a dragon.

"Poppycock!"

"There seems an easy enough way to prove if young Scamander is telling the truth Phineas," Dumbledore smiled reasonably, "Why don't we take a trip down to the forest and take a look? If he's lying, it will be clear soon enough. And if he's telling the truth, your name will go down in history as the head teacher who saved Hogwarts from a dragon. I see little harm in testing the boy's tale," and he actually winked sidelong at Newt, causing him to muffle a gasp of surprise.

"Of course," sarcasm dripped from Professor Black's every word, "Because I've got nothing better to do than traipse around on a wild goose chase. Ha! A wild dragon chase more like. It's nearly a full moon; I suppose you'll want to be out looking for were-rabbits next?" He looked at the faces of those assembled around him; Newt, white with fear and chewing on his lip; Dumbledore, who was serenely unwrapping a boiled sweet and humming to himself cheerfully; Professor Merrythought, her eyes narrowed sceptically at the boy; and that idiot Kettleburn who looked like he couldn't wait to go charging about on a dragon hunt. "Oh very well," he sighed wearily, and ushered the lot of them out into the grounds.

They crossed the lawns and passed the Quidditch pitch quickly and silently, the mist coming off the grass swirling up coolly around them. The night was so quiet and still that Newt was surprised that no one had commented on the loud banging of his heart which was pounding in his chest like a fist against a wooden door.

When they reached the edge of the forest they all seemed to pause and take a collective breath of anticipation. Newt crossed his fingers that he would be able to find the place easily, and stepped into the forest.

"Just how long are we going to continue this charade, Scamander? I suppose you think this is hilarious don't you. What a tale to tell your classmates – how you led half the teaching staff a merry dance through the Forbidden Forest in the dead of night – well, you'll be out of the school before the sun's up in the morning. You won't be showing off to anybody," Professor Black kept up a stream of complaints as they picked their way through the trees, which was punctuated by the issuing of stinging sparks from his wand that he directed in Newt's direction. He did his best not to react to the onslaught, presumably intended to discourage him, although the sparks made him cringe and stumble more than once as they hit a sensitive spot.

Eventually, they reached the place where he had left the dragon but there was nothing there, save a large flattened patch of undergrowth and some felled trees. A wide path was beaten through the trees, as though something large and very heavy had forced its way deeper into the forest.

Newt stopped in his tracks, his mouth dropping open in confusion. There was no way the dragon could have recovered, not in the chilly temperatures of a Scottish autumn night, "I don't understand…" he muttered, peering around.

"See! The boy lies!" Black hissed triumphantly.

"Phineas," Dumbledore murmured in a placating tone, "He may be mistaken as to exactly what he saw. It was dark, the boy was scared, the mind can play tricks on us," he raised a hand to Newt, who was about to protest strongly that he knew what he had seen, "but the evidence is before us all right now. There is something in the forest, something large. Wouldn't it be prudent to investigate what it is before we start doling out punishments? Something of that size shouldn't be too difficult to track down."

"Well if you'd rather spend your night trampling round the forest than in bed, then who am I to stop you? After all, I'm only the headmaster, no one need pay me any mind," Professor Black sniffed peevishly, but he followed the trail of devastation, prodding Newt painfully with his wand to keep him moving forwards. They were heading deeper into the forest, further than Newt had ever ventured before. After a few minutes, when the trees thinned out and the dragon's path wasn't clear, the other Professors peeled off in different directions, the glow of their wand light melting away into the darkness as they ventured cautiously through the brush. Dumbledore and Black trudged on, with Newt between them, foreboding hanging heavily in the air.

They had barely gone more than a hundred yards when Professor Merrythought's magically enhanced voice rang out clearly through the trees, "This way, quickly. A student's been hurt."

Newt couldn't help a sharp intake of breath. Was it Leta? Had she hurt herself somehow on her way back to the castle? Perhaps she'd got lost and somehow ended up here, in the heart of the forest, where who knew what resided. Or perhaps if someone had somehow introduced the dragon to the forest, perhaps it had awoken and turned on them. He heard the snapping of twigs as the others raced alongside him towards the voice.

They reached a clearing. The smell of scorched wood and the smoking, curled leaves on blackened branches alerted them to the fact that the dragon had not long fled this place. But the only thing that Newt could focus on, the point of reality that his entire world shrunk to, was Leta, in a crumpled heap on the floor.

Professor Dumbledore crouched over her prone form, his face grave. He turned her over to reveal a jagged tear through the shoulder of her robes that revealed a nasty looking gash down her arm. Her face was chalkily pale with a waxy sheen of sweat and her eyes were closed. She looked tiny, like Newt could pick her up with one arm and carry her away to safety. His muscles felt cord tight and his jaw clenched painfully as Dumbledore inspected the wound. He touched it lightly then lifted his fingers to the light to reveal a greenish shimmer.

"Dragon venom," he sighed, "It looks as though young Scamander was correct. Professor Kettleburn will have to confirm – I'm more of an expert on the blood than the venom – but it does look like a Peruvian Vipertooth's work to me. See the striations on the wound," he pointed with an outstretched finger.

"Is she still alive?" Professor Black asked the question that Newt had been too afraid to.

"For now," Dumbledore replied, "It looks as though we have found her in time but there isn't long to waste. She needs urgent medical treatment to stop the spread of the poison. I can try and contain it to her arm but there is a chance she will lose the arm altogether. Professor Beery has some Dragonwort growing in the greenhouses that should counter the poison but it isn't an antidote that the hospital wing carries routinely," frowning in concentration he levitated the unconscious girl into the air and with a complicated wave of his wand, encased her arm in a glittering bubble.

Professor Black, who had been gazing on, paralysed with horror, seemed to come to attention, realising perhaps that he needed to take charge of the situation, "Professor Merrythought, take the girl back to the castle right away. It may not be too late. Scamander, where do you think you're going?" He shouted after Newt, who had raced after the retreating forms of Professor Merrythought and Leta, "We need you to lead us to the beast,"

Phineas Nigellus Black was a stubborn man, but seemed that finding Leta, so gravely injured, had finally convinced him that he had been wrong in this instance and that there was indeed a dragon that needed to be located and contained. In contrast, Newt couldn't find it in himself to care if the dragon burned the whole world away now.

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 **Please review if you are enjoying the story.**


	8. Chapter 8

Thank you everyone who's read or reviewed so far. Ive loved seeing the explosion of FBAWTFT fics on here in the last few weeks and I've really enjoyed writing mine.

Disclaimer: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and Harry Potter belong to J K Rowling

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Professor Kettleburn sighed, crossing his arms balefully over his chest, "I think we should return to the castle and come back in daylight with reinforcements. To stun an adult –"

"Nonsense," huffed Black, "We must end this now. A student hurt. The governors will need to know that action has been taken,"

Taking advantage of the discord, Newt, who was feeling faintly hysterical, as though there was something under his skin itching and bubbling to get out, took another step out of the clearing. He thought he might get away when the toe of his boot made contact with something underfoot that made a clear crunching sound and drew the heads of the teachers. He bent down to examine it, and picked up a cracked but identifiable glass flask, a shimmering green substance oozing sluggishly out of it onto the ground. He looked up to find the other teachers eyeing the flask like hounds with the scent of fox in their nostrils and for some childish reason wished he could hide it behind his back.

"Dragon venom," hummed Professor Kettleburn reluctantly, his face set in a grim mask, "well this changes things somewhat."

"A student?" Professor Black, pale faced and unsure, asked Dumbledore.

Dumbledore shrugged, "Perhaps. We must consider one of two unpleasant truths – either the school is not quite the impenetrable fortress that we like to believe it, or one of our own has been harvesting dragon venom. That person, or persons, may or may not be the one who has somehow introduced a dragon into the school."

"Lestrange?" asked Kettleburn, peering through the gloom after her.

Newt heard the words coming out of his mouth before he even knew he was speaking them, "No. Not Leta. She couldn't -"

"Of course not," agreed the headmaster, shaking his head, scandalised, "she's from a good family, she wouldn't do anything to besmirch the name of the house of Lestrange," Newt remembered vaguely that Leta had once told him that she was the headmaster's grand-niece or something similar.

"Be careful Phineas," Dumbledore warned, "in these times, it would not do to rely too strongly on old loyalties."

Newt wanted to shake all the confusing thoughts out of his head like a crup shaking off water from his pelt. There was obviously more going on here than a dragon being in the forest. Something dark. He tried to remember all he had read about dragons but fear was making his head feel fuzzy. There had been a few notes about dragon venom but almost nothing about harvesting it other than it was a foolhardy exercise and painful to the dragon.

"All I mean is, well, Leta wouldn't hurt a creature. I saw the dragon, it had been hurt. She wouldn't do that."

"But then what was she doing in the forest?" Black demanded. Newt remained resolutely silent, his eyes on his boots. He didn't know the answer and he wasn't sure he wanted to.

Dumbledore regarded his flushed face kindly, "I am sure that we will get to the bottom of this in good time, but perhaps we had better turn our attention to the matter at hand," and he waved his wand arm towards the flattened foliage that indicated the way that the dragon had gone.

They crept now through the undergrowth, hearing a distant rumbling and crashing sound that alerted them all to the fact that they were not too far away. Newt saw Dumbledore and Kettleburn exchange a nervous glance as thin wisps of smoke curled around their ankles.

A flickering of flames dancing in the branches above, licking lovingly around the leaves and causing ash to rain down on them like black snow alerted them to the fact that they must be close. The teachers muttered Aguamenti and pointed their wands skywards, dousing the fire.

There was a great creaking, crashing sound and Professor Dumbledore threw his arm in front of Newt's chest and pulled him backwards, seconds before a young sapling fell down onto the spot he had been standing. It was followed by a whiplike tail, slashing through the air and leaving a trail of sparks in its wake. An ember landed on the back of Newt's hand, burning a neat circle into his freckled skin. He resisted the urge to cry out although his eyes watered with the effort of it.

"I believe we have located the dragon, Phineas," Dumbledore smirked drily as the headmaster shrunk backwards away from the wildly lashing tail.

"Isn't he magnificent," breathed Professor Kettleburn, looking utterly besotted, having clearly forgotten all the damage the dragon had caused thus far.

The steady jet of white hot fire issuing from the dragon's mouth illuminated the forest enough for Newt to see that it looked absolutely beside itself with rage. A fresh cut across its muzzle dripped black blood that hissed and sizzled in the flames. Its wings were outstretched and one seemed to be tangled in a branch overhead and as it reared up over and over to try and free itself, Newt could see the dully shining curse scar standing out darkly on its pale underbelly. The Care of Magical Creatures Professor was right; it truly was a magnificent beast. Its tennis ball sized eyes rolled green and golden in his head and each scale glimmered like a new Knut.

Pickett, feeling the heat, trembled inside Newt's pocket. He bit his lip in dismay that the little creature had sneaked inside his robes again and cast a cooling charm over his pocket, hoping that it would suffice to protect the twiglike bowtruckle. The acrid scent of burning hair assaulted his nostrils and he reached up to feel that the tips of his fringe were crispy and burned by a bolt of fire that had flown inches past his face. His skin felt tight and sore in the intense heat and the smoke was stinging his eyes.

Professor Kettleburn took charge, "Right, he hasn't spotted us and he's only a baby, so we've got a good chance of stunning it, even with only the four of us. Aim for the eyes and the belly, they're its weak spots. Stupefy on the count of three. Oh, and if it doesn't work…run."

He counted down and the three teachers and one student pointed their wands in unison and shouted a resounding "Stupefy!" and jets of light shot towards the dragon, all hitting their targets.

Whilst the dragon didn't fall immediately, the spell clearly had some effect. The fire from its mouth slowed to a gentle glow and it swayed woozily on the spot. Then slowly, it turned its head towards the direction of the spell and saw the men hiding behind the trees. With an agonised bellow it ripped its wingtip free from the tree and lumbered towards them, directing an intensely billowing cloud of flame towards them that made them all cringe back in pain and fear. Newt glanced sideways to see Dumbledore patting down sparks in his beard.

"Again!" Kettleburn called, the beads of sweat on his soot grimed forehead sparkling golden in the firelight.

This time, the dragon's knees buckled and its head lolled but it was certainly nothing like the unmoving unconsciousness that Newt had seen it in before. Even after a few seconds it was coming round again. It was blindingly obvious that without extra man power, they would be unable to successfully stun the dragon. However, in the absence of any other plan, they tried a third time.

Dumbledore cast a clever spell above them that caused rain to drip down onto them, cooling their frazzled skin for a moment, "Perhaps you will permit me to transfigure the dragon into something less volatile. A glove perhaps? Or a set of robes? Dragons take to being transfigured tolerably well. Even a student could do it," and he looked hard at Newt in a way that made Newt feel slow and stupid because he was obviously trying to tell him something but he couldn't for the life of him think what. He was certain that the professor couldn't be suggesting he was capable of it. After all, as his transfiguration teacher, he was well aware not only of his reluctance to transfigure animals but also his lack of skill at it. Leta had had to coach him extensively for their transfiguration exam, patiently transforming owls and cats back and forth for him, for hours.

However, before he had time to mull it over, or give in to the temptation to ask Professor Dumbledore exactly what he meant, Headmaster Black was rolling up his sleeves with a maniacal glint in his eye. He brandished his wand towards the dragon that was now getting unsteadily back to its feet, its eyes blinking lazily. The rain had extinguished the furnace like heat issuing from its mouth and all that remained were twin plumes of smoke from its nostrils. It seemed more confused than angry at that moment.

"There's only one certain way to deal with a dragon "Avada –"

"No!" Newt screamed, jumping unthinkingly in front of the dragon, "expelliarmus!"

Phineas Nigellus looked, open mouthed, at his empty hand as his wand skittered uselessly into the leafy mulch that covered the ground. Newt thought for a dizzy moment that he might faint – black spots weaved in front of his eyes and there was a buzzing in his ears like a Billywig's wings. The shock of leaping in front of a killing curse, coupled with his disarming the head master caught up with him all in a rush and he nearly had to sit down in the loam to stop himself from falling.

The dragon seized its chance and knocked Newt aside with its flailing wings. With an ear splitting roar that sent forth a blinding cloud of steam, it pulled itself up onto its clawed feet and rushed off into the forest, trampling Phineas underfoot in its haste to escape.

The professor sat up, his robes rumpled and muddied and his face bleeding profusely from a nasty scratch on his forehead, "Expelled!" he screamed, pointing a shaking finger at Newt, "You, Mr Scamander are expelled!"

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	9. Chapter 9

**None of the characters or storylines portrayed here belong to me.**

 **Thank you everyone who is reading this story.**

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They were all sporting cuts, bruises and extensive burns and the fight had gone out of them so when Professor Kettleburn suggested they retreat to the castle and return in the morning with reinforcements, the headmaster accepted without much protestation. He would not look at Newt on the way back and instead muttered about changes being needed and how he had pandered to the students for too long.

Newt barely noticed. He was almost glad he had been expelled so unceremoniously. Better that than have to worry about what was going to happen to him. At least this way it was the heavy lumpen dread of certainty in the pit of his stomach rather than hot writhing fear. Not that he wasn't feeling fear, but it meant that he could allow his blinding terror about Leta to expand and fill every inch of him like a coiling, tumbling Occamy. She couldn't be dead, she just couldn't. He'd know. He'd have felt the earth wrenching free of its axis, heard the grinding of every stone into dust, noticed every drop in every ocean boiling away to nothingness. She couldn't be dead because the world without her in it was an impossibility.

As they reached the side door, Dumbledore cleared his throat gently, "I feel it would be prudent if I take young Mister Scamander to the hospital wing and get that burn seen to," Newt started, he hadn't even noticed he had been burned, "after all, it wouldn't do to send him back to his parents looking like that, would it?" and Dumbledore smiled so benignly at Phineas Nigellus that he had no choice but to grudgingly agree.

They walked briskly in silence to the hospital wing, Dumbledore's singed robes billowing out behind him, Newt having to almost trot to keep up. As they approached the heavy wooden door, Dumbledore held Newt back gently, his face sorrowful, "Although you aren't a student any longer and don't have to listen to me, I'd appreciate it if you could wait here for me for just a moment."

Newt just nodded, afraid that if he opened his mouth he would beg to go in and see Leta, or even burst into tears. Dumbledore slipped inside and left Newt alone in the silence that grew and grew until it made the air thick and hard to breathe. His heart pounded painfully in his chest but in contrast, the nasty looking burns on the backs of his hands didn't hurt at all, as though they were someone else's hands he was looking at. After a few moments, or perhaps a hundred years, Dumbledore returned with his phoenix on his shoulder, smiling cautiously,

"Miss Lestrange was very grievously hurt and I must confess I feared that her injuries would overcome her. Dragon venom is very hard to make a successful antidote for. Fortunately, Fawkes here decided to take a flight to the hospital wing. She will make a full recovery."

"His tears," breathed Newt, stroking the feathery plumage on the birds head as it dipped its head, half closing its eyes in pleasure.

Dumbledore nodded, seeming pleased that Newt knew about the healing properties of Phoenix tears, "She is still unconscious but will hopefully awake in the next few days and be able to tell us everything that happened."

"You mean, who attacked her?" Newt asked, thinking of the flask of dragon venom. Perhaps she had stumbled upon the person who was harvesting it and they had used it on her after stabbing her or…

"You saw the wounds, they were inflicted by the dragon," Dumbledore's eyes were suddenly cold and steely.

Oh yes, silly old Newt, he had forgotten that, in his attempts to piece a palatable story of events out of the decidedly unpalatable facts, "Perhaps the dragon was so enraged when she came across them that it went for her. After all, you have to torture a dragon to get it to release its venom. Perhaps she was trying to stop them."

"Perhaps," Dumbledore conceded, "Now, unless you have a particular wish for me to remain, I am going to visit the headmaster. I would advise you not to forget to apply some burn salve to your hands after you have checked on Miss Lestrange."

So, after I've seen Leta, should I just go and pack or…?" Newt trailed off uncertainly.

"I think you should also visit the headmaster's office. The password is hemlock."

He pressed open the door, feeling the cool rush of herbal scented sterile air wash over him, and stepped inside. His eyes immediately zoned in on Leta, looking tiny and fragile in one of the narrow, iron framed hospital beds, the rise and fall of her chest. However, once he was able to see she was alive, the rest of the room came into focus to him.

"What are you doing here?" Newt asked, too shocked to be nervous, as his eyes slid over Leta's sleeping form, to Abraxas Malfoy sitting by her bed, holding her hand proprietorially.

Malfoy rolled his eyes, "Mother made me come, she was with Leta's mother when she got the news that Leta had been hurt and she owled me straight away. It's bad form, apparently, to leave your betrothed lying alone in a hospital bed. Even when you can't stand each other. Or when it's more than likely it's her own dam fault she's in here. Oh, er, you did know we were betrothed didn't you?" he asked belatedly, as Newt's mouth dropped open in dismay.

"Yes," he nodded sadly. So it was true. Leta was to be married to Malfoy. Not that he had expected her to settle for him. In truth, he hadn't even dared. But the thought of her as a society wife, smiling politely and sipping her cocktails while underneath her porcelain veneer she was raging and burning, as he knew she would be, made him almost sick with grief. He felt it like a body blow. The sight of Malfoy's pale skinned hand, even daring to as much as touch Leta's delicate olive skin made him want to curse it off, or run away, whichever he could do quicker.

"If it's any comfort, I'm sure she'd much rather be betrothed to you. Hell, I'd rather be betrothed to you," Malfoy attempted a laugh although it was hollow and forced.

"I've er, I've got to go" he backed up against the door of the infirmary, scrabbling for the handle in his haste to get away.

"I'll tell her you called by,"

Newt gazed down at Leta, her skin sallow and lacking the luminescence that usually made her look as fresh and shiny as a polished apple. The dark circles around her eyes. The paleness of her lips. Her robes were rumpled in disarray, pulled down to reveal the swathe of bandages at her shoulder. In the dim lamplight, a necklace glinted at her throat that Newt had never seen before – a curious symbol that looked like a triangle with a circle in the middle of it, threaded onto a black leather cord.

"Would you mind…" he teetered on a knife edge of indecision. On one hand was goodness, and the way, whilst not smooth, was straightforward, and on the other way was Leta, but the path was thorn twisted and flanked with fire and lightening, "…not," he finished, agonised.

Malfoy just shrugged indifferently, as though his misery would be unaffected by what happened between Newt and Leta.

He was almost out the door when Malfoy called after him, a strange kind of casual camaraderie in his voice, "Oh, I almost forgot, she had this in her hand when she was brought in. Is it yours?"

Newt turned slowly, feeling so weary that he could barely stand to see Abraxas holding out a silver knife, tipped darkly with dragon's blood. That final blow, the final hammer point of humiliation made him feel like a little child, desperate to run and hide under his covers from this world of adults that he didn't understand.

"At least now you know what she's capable of," Malfoy sneered and Newt realised that it wasn't him that Abraxas was trying to hurt but the dark sleeping girl in the bed. Knowing that he was just collateral damage in a cruel game that had decades to play out, didn't make it hurt any less though.

oOoOoOo

When he approached Headmaster Black's office, he could hear raised voices – Dumbledore's pleasant baritone, interspersed with Professor Black's reedy tones, shrill with anger now. They were arguing. He muttered the password to the gargoyle and a narrow stone spiral staircase opened to him which he dragged his feet up wearily.

Dozens of portraits gazed down dolefully at him, some of them even shaking their heads.

"Ah, Mr Scamander, you've bothered to join us at last!" the headmaster waved his arm theatrically, clearly in his element. Too late, Newt realised that he had not applied any salve to his hands and they were starting to sting, "Not that the rules apply to you do they, you think you're more important than the rules don't you Scamander?"

Newt's stutter which had improved to almost non-existence as he'd got older, returned with a vengeance, rendering him almost unable to say anything to disagree with the Professor Black's acerbic assertion.

"I can only assume that must be the case, otherwise why did you think it was appropriate for you to disarm the headmaster? Hmmm?" and he crossed his arms and stared so expectantly at Newt that he saw red and tasted dizzying magic on his tongue for a second before he was able to calm himself down.

Still, he wasn't able to stop himself from answering in an overly sullen manner, "I was under the impression that unforgiveable curses were…well…unforgiveable. Sir."

"These were exceptional circumstances!" small flecks of spittle gathered in the corners of his mouth.

"I just didn't want you to kill the dragon. It wasn't like it asked to be in the forest." He crossed his arms over his chest.

"You seem to know an awful lot about how it got into forest – is there anything you want to say on the matter? I understand you're fond of creatures, perhaps you wanted a pet? Thought you could handle it did you?" Professor Black was pacing up and down the office now, glancing up at the portraits from time to time to see how they were reacting to his interrogation. Most seemed to be nodding along, although Newt could see a tufty haired wizard whispering to a wizened-faced witch, both glaring at Black and tutting.

"No – No! Of course not! I love creatures! There's no way I'd be that cruel. Peruvian Vipertooths are completely unsuited to the British climate, let alone confined spaces. Let alone confined spaces made of wood!"

"Well then how did you find it?" Professor Black was leaning over him now, the corners of his mouth turned up cruelly.

"I'd rather not say," Newt could feel the dull flush rising up his neck no matter how hard he wished it away.

"I'd rather you did, or do I need to fetch veritaserum?" Newt felt his stomach drop away. He knew he needed to keep the whole truth from the Professor, even though he barely knew of it himself. The little truth he knew would only lead to investigations and scandal, "No Sir, it's like this…erm.." A rustle in his pocket and a leafy head emerged. His heart leaped with joy to see Pickett looking disgruntled but unharmed, "I found this bowtruckle…in my belongings. He sometimes likes to stow away in my pocket – he's fond of me," Professor Black snorted derisively as though he found the idea of anyone being fond of Newt unbelieveable, "and I thought I had better return him to the forest like Professor Kettleburn keeps telling me to."

"In the middle of the night? A likely story! And was Miss Lestrange with you?"

"I don't know why Leta was in the forest," Newt admitted sadly.

"Stop lying! I will fetch the veritaserum this instant, and use it on you. Then when your friend Lestrange wakes up, I'll use it on her just to make sure!" Phineas was raving again, his robes billowing like black smoke around him as he paced, his arms flailing wildly. Dumbledore had been silent the entire time, watching Newt keenly but making no attempt to intervene.

A drum roll of desolation started up in the pit of Newt's stomach and yet his head was clearer than it had been for hours, the path ahead illuminated for him.

"Alright, alright. I found the dragon in the forest. I don't know how it got there but I'd been trying to take care of it myself. I had an idea about trying to tame it but it seemed unwell. I asked Leta to come with me after curfew to take a look at it. She begged not to go and it was against school rules but I forced her into it. I said I'd never speak to her again if she didn't come with me. But she didn't know anything about it until we got there and she panicked and ran off into the forest so I came back to find help. She must have got lost and the dragon tracked her down somehow. If you want to punish me, then fine, but leave her out of it."

He looked up from his boots, his face burning. Dumbledore was gazing at him in a kind of horrified despair but Professor Black looked satisfied at least.

"Very well, you can go and pack now, I want you gone before morning."

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 **If you are enjoying please review**


	10. Chapter 10

**As you undoubtedly know, Harry Potter, FBAWTFT and the characters therein belong to J K Rowling.**

 **This is the final chapter of this fic. I've loved writing Newt but I wanted to explain my version of how he got expelled and hopefully I've done that. Thank you for reading.**

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"I should warn you, that Headmaster Black is campaigning to have your wand snapped unless you apologise to him. I can see that you aren't going to do that though are you?"

Newt's head shot up and hit the lid of his trunk. He had just been emptying it out, trying to decide what it was worth taking away with him. He doubted he could go home after this mess. For a heart racing moment he had hoped that it might be Leta, come to apologise, to run away with him, he didn't know what, but of course it wasn't. Even if she had regained consciousness, it wouldn't have been.

"What? Oh, er, no. Sorry. I probably should, seeing as I'm being expelled but no. Professor Black was going to kill the dragon and he didn't deserve it. It was just scared, it didn't mean to lash out. It should never have been in the forest.

"And yet, it was."

"Hmm," Newt nodded absently, busying himself with packing again so he didn't have to meet Dumbledore's shrewd blue eyes.

"Professor Kettleburn tells me you are exceptionally able with creatures. So presumably you know," Dumbledore said airily, as though he was discussing the weather, "the Peruvian Vipertooth exudes a very strong, almost undetectable poison from its fangs. The only reason that the venom isn't used more widely as a poison is that it loses its potency within a day or two of being removed from the dragon,"

Heat started spreading from under Newt's collar, up his neck as the details that he had read about dragon venom came back to him. He blew his fringe up out of his eyes, "Well yes Sir, I had heard that,"

"And I will be as bold as to make another presumption, that you have heard of the Dark Uprising led by Gellert Grindelwald and know how many witches and wizards here in England, even in this very school, want more than anything to see him rise to power."

"The articles say that you're the only one to stop him, Sir,"

"I dare say they do"

Dumbledore looked at him closely, as though he wanted him to consider how those two seemingly unrelated facts could be linked. Cold misery dripped down Newt's spine. He didn't want to think. Didn't want to realise what Dumbledore was alluding to. And yet, in spite of his wishes, he knew exactly what he was saying and what was more, he knew it must be the truth.

"I must ask you, Newt, if there's anything you want to tell me,"

Leta's pale face as she lay in the hospital wing, that strange necklace on show, swum to the forefront of his mind, unbidden but he had not been placed in Hufflepuff – the house of the loyal - for no reason. "No Sir," he mumbled dejectedly but Dumbledore was smiling as though Newt had told him something.

"Headmaster Black has tasked Professor Kettleburn with hunting down the dragon. It could hurt a student, which I'm afraid must be the first concern for us teachers. He's heading out into the forest in just a moment and I've suggested that as you are no longer a student, you could assist him," the way he spoke hinted to Newt that Dumbledore wouldn't be arguing against its capture. However, he couldn't stop himself from arguing against the injustice.

"It's already hurt, last night must have really weakened it. A chase through the forest could do serious harm."

"I doubt that will be a concern to Headmaster Black - he has ordered its destruction once it is captured. Still, it got in somehow, presumably it might just get out again," Dubledore waved his hand in his unconcerned manner.

"I doubt it," Newt's teeth gritted together. He had now admitted to himself the fact that he had refused to acknowledge, that Leda had somehow sneaked the beast into the forest. He knew it was topsy turvey, the way his silly old brain often worked, but he was more angry about the mistreatment of the dragon than the attempted poisoning of Dumbledore, if that was what it had even been. Perhaps it was because Dumbledore could look after himself, unlike the injured dragon or perhaps her causing harm to a creature felt more like a direct betrayal to him personally.

Dumbledore appeared unconcerned with Newt's inner turmoil, perhaps used to the travails of young witches and wizards, and seemed content to flick through the textbooks that Scamander would no longer need.

"I can tell I'm wasting too much of your time already. Headmaster Black expects you in his office before breakfast with your trunk ready to floo home. I implore you though, young Scamander, not to abandon your studies, now that your formal education has ended. There is much that it would benefit you still to learn. I find page 403 particularly enlightening," and with a wink, he pressed the book he had been perusing into Newt's hand and swept from the room, his violet robes swirling behind him.

Newt slung the book into his trunk and made towards the wardrobe to remove his spare robes hanging there, before slowly turning on his heel. Tentatively he removed the charms textbook that he had just thrown so unceremoniously and rifled through to the page Dumbledore had mentioned. Undetectable Extension Charms.

oOoOoOo

In the end he hadn't had his wand snapped. After a thorough search, the dragon could not be found, and although Headmaster Black had grumbled for what seemed like hours about the dangers of being unduly lenient on students, Professor Dumbledore had reasoned with him that asking the Ministry to snap his wand over a case of a disappearing dragon might have a high embarrassment factor and possibly it would be better if Newt simply disappeared. Professor Kettleburn, who despite having assured the head master he had seen neither hide nor claw of the dragon during the search, had fresh burn paste applied to his face, glanced conspiratorially at Newt and repeated the offer to send him to the Ukraine to work with dragons. Newt had gratefully accepted and, gripping his brown leather suitcase tightly in one hand, had been on his way that very same day.

None of the students saw him go. Dumbledore had asked him if there was anyone he wanted to say goodbye to but he had declined.

He heard nothing of Leta for seven years. He didn't try to seek her out even though he burned to ask her so many questions. Instead he concentrated his attentions on his creatures – at least he could understand them. They were often dangerous or fearsome but at least he could always understand their motivations. Besides, even the sharpest toothed runespoor, or aggressive troll could not compare to the most vicious creatures – man.

Then after over half a decade, she wrote to him just once.

He had been just about to go to bed when the owl had arrived, hooting at his window with a lumpy parcel attached to its leg. When he opened it, a tiny copper coloured dragon flew out - a miniature replica of a Peruvian Vipertooth. He smiled at the clever use of the Draconifors transfiguration spell, even though icy cold eels of dread writhed and roiled in his stomach as he realised who must have sent it. With shaking hands he unrolled the scroll of parchment.

My Darling Newt,

How I miss you. It seems a lifetime ago since I last saw you. And what a lifetime. The world seems to have shifted upon its axis and everything that was right and proper and encouraged now seems wrong and indecent and everything that was forbidden and spoken of in disparaging tones by my parents now seems like the only truth I have to hold on to. I wouldn't expect you to understand, your moral compass has always pointed unerringly towards the light. It was one of the things I loved most about you, even when I couldn't understand it and it pained me to consider.

Newt, I want to thank you. Thank you and apologise. I should have said it years ago but I thought I was too afraid. Now, on the eve of my wedding, I know what fear truly feels like and I realise now that it wasn't fear, but shame that kept me from writing to you sooner. Dumbledore told me what you did for me at school, how you took the blame. It was more than I deserved. I am sure you must have guessed my secret but perhaps you have never considered the pressure that I was under, that we were all under to DO SOMETHING. And you needn't become bitter with assumptions that I escaped without punishment, for news of my failure soon reached the ears of those who did not hesitate at serving punishments far more severe than a detention, or lines, or even expulsion and being banished to the land of dragons. You have been noticed too, your name was not excluded when the whole sorry tale was picked over by my Master. He has noticed you. Please, my darling, never give yourself cause to make him notice you a second time.

Dumbledore never accused me of any part in the whole thing, but I think he knew too. Certainly he never would teach me transfiguration again – he said that I already knew more than I needed to on the subject. I don't know if you are still in contact with him but if you are, please pass on my regards to him, he is the world's only hope now.

Sometimes I dream that you come to rescue me, come swooping in on the back of a hippogriff and snatch me away from this horror and carry me off into the sunset - and it reminds me of that time you sneaked out of detention on the back of my broomstick and I don't think I was ever happier than I was then - but I think we both know that's too flashy for you, that you aren't quite that brand of hero. So I must say goodbye, the goodbye that I have carried around in my heart, leaden and cold, for too long. I enclose my picture so that you may remember me from time to time, if you like.

Yours, always

Leta

Newt squeezed his eyes shut tightly but he could still see the desperation bleeding off the paper, read the unwritten pleas in her words. He looked back into the package and found the photo she had mentioned. She looked just the same as at school, apart from her eyes. Her eyes looked like they were staring into her own grave. With a wave of his wand he called the Lilliputian dragon that had been circling his head and set it on the parchment and just sat and watched as it reduced her words to ash. Then he tucked the photo into his pocket and cast a reversal spell over the replica beast. Its scales melted away as the transfigured beast returned to its original form, and with a thunk, the silver pendant that he had seen round her neck that night in the hospital fell onto the smouldering remains of her letter.

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 **So there you go folks, the end. I hope you've enjoyed reading nearly as much as I've enjoyed writing. If you have, please do review.**

 **There MIGHT be a teeny epilogue to follow because I couldn't can't give Newt up completely just yet.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Epilogue**

June 1940

It had become a little routine of theirs; they would eat breakfast together and read the Prophet and The Daily Ghost together, discussing point of interest and noting how their respective countries handled different news stories. Both homebodies, and fans of stability and security, despite the adventures they had been on together, perhaps even because of them, they clung onto their routines and rituals.

Newt had just spread marmalade on a piece of toast when the overloud clatter of Tina's cup in the saucer made his gaze flash up from the advertisement for the newly opened restaurant in the torch of the statue of liberty in the Ghost.

Tina's eyes were wide, her fingers pressing against her lips sorrowfully. She handed over the Prophet to him without a word. The way the paper trembled in her hand made his stomach drop over a precipice of dread.

He saw Leta's picture before the words came into focus and he wanted to fling the paper away like it had burned him

 **Society Heiress dies. Tragic accident or something more sinister? Aurors are investigating possibility of foul play.**

They hadn't spoken in years – decades even – he had never replied to her letter and she had never written again. Most people that knew him now, didn't know him then and her parents who had despised him anyway were long dead. But still, it was a shock that he had to find out through the Prophet of all places, that no one had thought to warn him before he saw it there in stark black and white.

He tried to read the words, about Abraxas Malfoy being taken away inconsolable. About the possibility that she had tripped on the hem of her overlong gown. About how some were saying it was suicide and an opposing number were saying it was murder. He bit back the bile that rose in his throat when he saw she had been pregnant. However, try as he might to read the words, they skittered and crawled off the page like fire ants and refused to stay in a line for him to understand.

Tina didn't say anything about it, trusting that if he wanted to talk about it, he would. He never knew what Queenie had told her about what she had seen in his head and she never found out if Leta Lestrange loved to read. But it felt, when she died, like a tiny black spot on the snowy white page of their love, like the quill writing their story had spilled a misplaced drop of ink, was erased. And yet, he couldn't bring himself to talk about it in those numb yet raw days after he found out. By the time he felt able to, he no longer felt that he needed to. Even the thought of speaking her name aloud, for the first time in so long, felt indecent.

As a decent amount of time passed, Newt read that Abraxas had remarried, then after that, saw pictures of his blonde haired baby – a boy named Lucius – in the society pages of the Prophet. He didn't feel those pieces of news like the body blow that the news of her death had been. Instead he found himself recalling the way that rather than mourning the death of their loved ones, Ancient Greeks asked only one question about the deceased - 'did they have passion?' and truly, Leta Lestrange had had more passion than anyone he had encountered before or since.


End file.
